


A Study in (Chubby) Kink

by Chubstilinski



Series: Chubby Teen Wolf Tumblr Prompt Fics [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Belly Kink, Body Worship, Chubby Derek, Chubby Kink, Chubby Stiles, Consent Issues, Drunk Sex, First Time, Intoxication, M/M, Stuffing, Teasing, Underage Drinking, Verbal Humiliation, Weight Gain, chaser derek, chubby teen wolf, tight clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:18:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chubstilinski/pseuds/Chubstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jesus, I’m really getting big, aren’t I?"</p><p>The tone in Stiles’s voice is embarrassed, a little bit dark with some emotion Derek can’t place, but then he looks up to catch Derek’s reaction like he thinks he’s being sly, and Derek is sure his face isn’t quite as impassive as he wants it to be.</p><p>Derek opens his mouth again to protest, to make Stiles feel better if that’s what he wants, but Stiles continues. “It’s okay, dude. I know I am. I just, I keep eating so much. It’s like I can’t stop. ‘M such a pig, Derek. You should’ve seen what I ate earlier.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in (Chubby) Kink

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT: Derek is waiting for Stiles in his dorm room, for a study 'date'. Stiles though, for some odd reason, is completely late and Derek is about to leave when suddenly, in comes Stiles, stumbling drunk/high/foodcoma/all (whatever you please) and pretends to be sad about how much weight he's gained (chubbify him, yes) to Derek, even though he's really just turning himself on with the fake shame and the eyes Derek can't stop making at him when he touches his gut. Physical teasing ensues please.

_Where are you_

_I’m already here_

Derek will never admit that for those first five minutes, he practically stares a hole in his phone waiting for a response.

 _Probably going through your porn_ , he sends, when the radio silence stretches.

Derek waits for Stiles for 45 minutes after that, and he already feels pathetic for waiting that long. At least Stiles’s roommate left after only ten so nobody has to witness him being stood up. Kind of. Stood up would imply that this is supposed to be a date, which it  _isn’t_ , so his stomach could stop fluttering because he’s positive Stiles didn’t mean their study date to be anything like Derek wanted it to be.

He’s feeling sort of sorry for himself and is about to get up and leave when his phone chimes. It says,  _Hey sorry man. This is scott. Stiles lost phone privileges hes too drunk haha_

_Why is he drunk right now, we’re supposed to be studying_

Derek can almost taste the rejection, bitter on his tongue, and he’s got half his books and notes back in his bag when he gets another message.

_Holy shut I’m so sorry derek I’m on my way banc, don’t leave_

_Just kidding I have been informed I need to pay for the Mounties if did I just consumed first_

_*Mountain of food_

_We’re at carlitos for taco Tuesday  so fuxking good_

_Dd you really look at my porn?? What’s you think? see anything you like?_

Derek thanks god no one is in the room to see his undoubtedly mortifying fond expression. He replies,  _This is why you lost your phone privileges isn’t it._

_I’m a drunk texter Derek you should Niebuhr_

_*Know that_

Derek says,  _You suck at this._

_I’m trying so hard ok leave me alone_

_I’m sorry I’m late don’t be mad at md ok I’m one my way_

_Wanted to text you a bunch if times but scott took my phone cause he’s a terrible friend_

_It’s ok Stiles. I’m not sure you’re gonna be much help to me studying at this point anyway_

_But I could provide excellent  motivation ;)_

Derek’s stomach swoops thinking about exactly the kind of  _motivation_  Stiles could provide. Sometimes he hates that Stiles is such a flirt. There’s too many mixed signals; Derek never knows where he stands.

 _I’ll bet_ , he sends back.

Fifteen minutes later, Stiles practically falls into the room, closes the door, slow and extra-careful. He leans back against it and groans, pained, closes his eyes and rubs circles into his stomach.

"You okay Stiles? You gonna be sick?"

"No, I’m," Stiles burps in between words and groans again, thumping his head back against the doorway. "M’so full, Derek."

Derek knew he should’ve left while he had the chance. It’s far from the first time he’s seen Stiles stuffed out of his mind, but it’s happening more and more often these days, and Derek only has so much restraint.

He can’t help the way his eyes are drawn to Stiles’s belly, now. Just to see. He should just ignore it, but he  _can’t_. There’s only so much a guy can take and Derek is way past his limit. Has been for  _weeks_. He’s been almost as twitchy as Stiles, a total wreck and so fucking  _desperate_. Stiles’s stomach is bloated and round, stretching the buttons of his plaid shirt just enough that it’s a goddamn tease, showing the fabric of the white shirt he has underneath. When Derek finally tears his eyes away, Stiles is looking right at him, head tilted to the side in contemplation.

Before Derek even has time to decipher that expression, or school his own into something maybe a little less turned on, Stiles licks his lips and swaggers his way over to where Derek is lounging on his bed and Derek doesn’t know where to focus his eyes.

Stiles’s own eyes are blown black, from the alcohol, maybe. It’s easy to imagine the look he’s giving Derek is  _heated_ , though Derek knows it’s not. And those lips are wet and shiny and plump and  _so_  inviting. But then his belly is so perfectly on display, wrapped up in taut fabric, and it’s right at his eye level, chubby flesh jiggling with every step he takes towards the bed. When Derek’s gaze finally makes it’s way back to Stiles’s gorgeous face, Stiles doesn’t smile, not with his mouth. But his eyes sparkle with mischief in a way that Derek knows is going to mean trouble.

Stiles bends over to reach into the mini-fridge that doubles as an end table and cracks open a beer. Before he can take a sip, Derek snatches it away and takes a long pull. He grins at Stiles’s betrayed face and says, “I think you’ve probably had enough to drink. At least until I catch up to you.”

Stiles flops onto the bed, half sprawled over Derek’s legs and his books. “Good  _luck_. I’m fucking wasted, dude. Had one of those giant margaritas in like a fucking fishbowl.”

Derek sputters on his sip of beer and says, “Jesus, the whole thing?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “No, not the whole thing, I’m not  _totally_  insane.”

Derek gives him a look and Stiles sighs. “Okay, fine, I had  _almos_ _t_  the whole thing. Isaac helped though.”

"You don’t seem  _that_ drunk. I’ve seen you wasted drunk.”

"Hmm. Maybe wasted was an exaggeration."

He stares at his fingers as he wiggles them together, cataloging sensations. And then Stiles gives him a dopey grin and squinty eyes and says, “Maybe I’m jus’ drunk on  _you_ , Derek.”

"I take it back, wasted seems accurate."

Stiles giggles and throws an arm over his head, revealing a strip of skin between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his boxers.

"Naw, I feel kinda okay now I’m laying down. And after all those carbs, you know? Ate  _so_ much at dinner.”

His face turns pouty as he says it. He’s back to rubbing his full stomach, and Derek thinks this is completely unfair, is Stiles  _trying_  to torture him? All he wants to do is lay a hand on the dome of that belly, press his palms into the soft fat and -

"Dude, quit your staring, okay? I know I’m like a fucking balloon right now, but please try to focus. I know you have homework, get to that shit,"  Stiles says, tugging his shirt down, making it fit nice and snug around his belly.

"I would, but you’re laying on it."

Stiles barks out a laugh, slurs, “Sorry, hold on.”

He struggles to sit up, bracing his forearms on the bed, and the pressure forces a heavy burp from his gut. Stiles laughs breathlessly, a blotchy pink flush of embarrassment spreading low on his chubby cheeks. He flops back on the mattress and Derek does  _not_ watch the way his body moves.

"Sorry, fuck. ‘S no use, Derek. ‘M stuck like this. Just leave me here to explode in peace."

Derek shoves his hands under Stiles’s body, tries not to think about how soft it is, even on his back, how his finger sinks into the crease below a plump roll that wraps around his waist. Stiles groans as Derek rolls him over, and then again, complaining muffled into the comforter as Derek picks up his notebooks and tosses them onto the floor.

When he flips him back over, Stiles’s stomach jiggles and shifts as he blinks his eyes open blearily and says, “What’re you doing?”

"What?"

"I don’t think you’re gonna be able to get much done if your notes are on th’ floor."

"I’ll do it tomorrow."

"Sure? Thought you needed to work."

"No, I just. I donno, don’t worry about it."

Derek could feel the tips his ears heat. He doesn’t really  _need_  to do any work. He’d already done his homework for tomorrow in the time it took for Stiles to get here, and nothing else is due until next week. He knew his workload was pretty light when Stiles asked him over, it’s just. Derek has this inability to say no to spending time with Stiles. Even back when he was just that annoying and stupidly sexy freshman that never, ever shut up. Sure, he’d complain about Stiles all the time; Stiles drove him  _crazy_. But Derek  _loved_  it.

It took him some time to come to terms with how he felt about Stiles, and maybe it took one too many comments from Erica about how sometimes Stiles was  _all_  he’d talk about. But he’s. Well, he’s smart, and his sense of humor is biting, and he’s loyal, and daring, and full of such vibrant energy. And at some point Derek realized he wanted to be around that energy all the time, that he thrived off of their snarky teasing, their chemistry.

And then. Well, during his freshman year, Stiles had put on some weight. If he started of just a little bit soft, he ended up squarely at chubby by the end of the year. So now, halfway through sophomore year, Stiles had taken to partying more, smoking more, and it _shows_ in the rapid weight gain that gives his body layers and layers of squishy fat that Derek absolutely cannot get enough of. 

It’s worse at times like this, when Stiles is loose with drink, more tactile than usual, and his body is sprawled so close. His shirt is ridden up almost to his belly button again but he hasn’t seemed to notice.

Stiles’s voice cuts into his thoughts. “Well I have a bottle of vodka under my bed if you’d like to try to play catch up with me. Could watch a movie or something.”

Stiles is looking at him with wide, pleading eyes, hand lightly grasping at Derek’s thigh as if he thinks Derek would  _leave_.

Derek wants to roll his eyes.  _Obviously_  he isn’t going to leave if Stiles wants him to stay. He reaches under the bed and brings up a half-full handle. “Aristocrat, Stiles, really?”

Stiles struggles to shift himself up the bed, to lay next to Derek lengthwise, and Derek already misses the body contact, even though it’d been making his legs go numb.

"What? I’m poor. Beggars can’t be choosers, asshole, drink up."

This time Derek does roll his eyes but he unhooks the green plastic shot glass on a beaded necklace from the whiteboard above Stiles’s bed, and pours himself some vodka. He grimaces through it, coughing after he swallows. It’s a lot like he imagines nail polish remover would taste, the smell of which still haunts him after having his sisters always painting their nails in  _his room_.

He chugs his beer to chase away the taste and Stiles laughs at him, because Stiles is an asshole. Derek asks, “Why do I like you again?”

Stiles’s answering grin is sunshiny bright, and Derek’s face probably completely lights up in response; it’s  _awful_.

"I couldn’t tell you, man." His face sobers a little, but it’s weird, not quite sincere but definitely not a joke as he says, "Maybe hanging around with such a fatass makes you feel super hot in comparison, I don’t know."

"What? Stiles that’s not-ow!"

Stiles punches his arm, a little too enthusiastically. “Whoops, sorry, D.”

And then he strokes Derek’s bicep with gentle fingers, places a kiss right in the center of the future bruise, and Derek’s skin breaks out into goosebumps. He hates and loves how affectionate Stiles is when he’s drunk.

“We should watch a movie. Get my laptop, ‘s in my backpack.”

“Bossy,” Derek says as he climbs off Stiles’s bed to go fetch his bag.

When he gets it all plugged in, he sets the laptop on the mattress and sits back next to Stiles. Curiously, Derek looks over him to where there’s definitely more space on the other side of the bed. Stiles is just slightly too close, now, sitting up a little bit with his arm resting against Derek’s thigh. He’s smiling up at Derek from where he’s still reclined against the pillow.

It’s making him itch for more contact, blood humming in his veins. But he can handle it. It doesn’t mean anything. Stiles cuddles with Scott all the time; he’s just like that.

Stiles makes grabby hands at the computer, so Derek reaches over and dumps it in his lap. Stiles groans, and rubs his stomach better, and Derek stares resolutely at the screen to avoid looking at it.

“First of all, you’re a dick,” Stiles says. Derek can only make a sound of agreement, there. “And second, I think it’s about time for another shot.”

Derek takes two in a row, because fuck all of this, he needs it.

“That’s the spirit. Get it? Spirit.”

Derek rolls his eyes so hard it kind of hurts, and he watches Stiles put on some movie he’s never heard of.

“Why does no one appreciate my pun crafting genius?”

“‘Cause puns are stupid.”

Derek feels pretty buzzed now, those shots went straight to his head and it’s already cutting into his ability to keep up with Stiles’s banter. Stiles laughs anyway, though probably at him rather than with him, and he slides a big chubby hand to rest on Derek’s belly. It’s a little soft, maybe, from Derek’s own college experience and likely exacerbated by hanging out with Stiles so much lately. But it’s  _nothing_  like Stiles’s perfect, round belly.

More than anything Derek wants to return the favor, rub his own hand into Stiles’s gut, but he’s too much of a chicken. And his brain might be melting out of his ears because the way Stiles is touching him, fingers idly toying with the slight bit of pudge above his abs, it’s making him squirm. He catches Stiles’s hand and moves it back to rest on his own stomach, and Derek watches his smirk bloom into a dark grin in the split second before he starts giving his own fat belly the same treatment.

Not even five minutes into the movie, Derek feels like he’s about to snap. Stiles will not. Stop. Touching himself.

“Will you cut that out,” he hisses.

“Cut what out?”

Stiles’s voice is filled with faux-innocence, but the little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes betray the suppressed smile on his face. Derek sees right through him.

“You know what. It’s distracting.

“But my tummy hurts,” Stiles whines. “‘M just tryinna make it feel better.”

“It’s not like you didn’t bring this on yourself, Stiles. It’s your fault for eating what looks like every taco in the entire restaurant.”

Stiles gasps a little, and his hand stills, and Derek immediately grimaces. He glances over at Stiles’s face and he’s looking down and away, biting his lip.

“Sorry, I just meant-”

"No. You’re right."

Stiles looks at him with terrifying intensity. When he speaks again his voice is sort of low in the way that always makes Derek shiver. “‘S okay, Derek. I did bring it on myself. You don’t have to deny it or anything. All this pigging out I’ve been doing, you know? It’s pretty obvious.”

Derek is suddenly confused by the turn this conversation is taking. He’s overwhelmed, and nervous and aroused and he has no idea what to do with himself. Especially when Stiles looks down at his belly, swollen with food and drink and  _fat_. He grabs a handful of it and  _shakes_ , sending ripples through the extra flesh and Derek can’t breathe.

"Jesus, I’m really getting big, aren’t I?"

The tone in Stiles’s voice is embarrassed, a little bit dark with some emotion Derek can’t place, but then he looks up to catch Derek’s reaction like he thinks he’s being sly, and Derek is sure his face isn’t quite as impassive as he wants it to be.

Derek opens his mouth again to protest, to make Stiles feel better if that’s what he wants, but Stiles continues. “It’s okay, dude. I know I am. I just, I keep eating so  _much_. It’s like I can’t stop. ‘M such a pig, Derek. You should’ve  _seen_  what I ate earlier.”

Derek’s lips part a little and he means to say something, but no sound comes out, and his traitorous brain won’t stop sending him images of what he  _knows_  Stiles looks like when he eats. Greedy and messy and  _perfect_. He wants so badly to ask what he ate, to make him detail how much. Derek knows it’d have to have been a lot. Stiles is no lightweight, and if he’s this stuffed, he’d probably eaten several portions worth of food. The thought alone is dizzying, but Derek wants  _specifics_.

He tries to keep his voice even, controlled. “What did you eat?”

Stiles looks down, blush on his cheeks as he says, a little shaky, “God, I had nachos, chips and queso, tacos, fried chimichangas, enchiladas… churros with ice cream.”

He peers up at Derek, eyes lidded and Derek feels his breath go deep and slow and shuddery. He doesn’t bother to take his eyes off Stiles’s body this time as he asks, “And that margarita?”

"Yeah, I. I know it was way too big. But I didn’t wanna waste it, you know? It’s like a crime to waste a good drink."

"Or good food."

“ _Exactly_. See? You feel me, Derek.”

Now that Stiles was complaining about it, Derek wondered why he even did it. Derek had always just assumed he didn’t care, that he enjoyed it. But the way he’s talking about it tonight… What would make Stiles eat until he was in so much pain? And more importantly, _why_   _does Derek_ _like it_ , what the hell is wrong with him?

So he decides to press a little. “But you didn’t  _need_  to order so much.”

Stiles brings up a hand to half cover his pink-flushed face, rub at it in the way he does when he’s nervous. “No, I. I know. I can’t help it. Wanted to eat  _more_ , even. Jesus, I would’ve if Scott didn’t catch your text.”

And suddenly, Derek is flooded with lust, burning hot and  _staggering_ in how extreme it is. He’d been riding a low buzz of it since Stile came home, belly bloated with food. But there’s something in Stiles’s tone, in his eyes, in the way his hand will not stop caressing his gut. Derek thinks wildly that he might faint like a damsel in an old movie.

And then his voice comes out low and a little strangled when he says, “Wh-what would you have gotten if I didn’t text you.”

If anything Stiles’s voice is deep to match his own. And they’re usually so soft, but those big brown eyes are now focused, intense, locked onto Derek’s as he speaks. “Had my eye on the fried ice cream. Or the banana chimichanga. Maybe  _both_ , I don’t know. They were so  _huge_ , saw another table order them. They looked  _awesome_. Was about to get one, even though. Even though the waiter kept noticing how much I'd already eaten, kept trying to give me the check. And Scott’s used to the way I eat now, but Isaac. He kept looking at me like I was  _crazy_.”

Derek swallows, so hopelessly turned on Stiles couldn’t possibly miss it, even if he never looked at Derek’s crotch for confirmation. “You think you could’ve finished it?”

"Yeah," Stiles says, breathy.

He licks his lips and that’s when Derek realizes how close they are, faces just inches apart. It would be so easy to fit Stiles’s mouth against his own, and Derek isn’t stupid. He can tell Stiles wants it, it’s unmistakable now. But he wants something else, too, and Derek thinks he might know what it is.

"Are you sure, Stiles? Your gut looks pretty packed, already."

Outside of sobriety, Derek feels bold, the rush of lust clogging his veins. When he sees Stiles's eyes darken, he barely hesitates before finally,  _finally_  placing his hand on the bulge of his belly. Derek gasps but the sound is drowned out by the harsh, shaky breath that falls from Stiles’s lips. His eyes roll back for a second, and when Derek presses his hand down, feeling out Stiles’s full stomach underneath all that fat, he whines, arches his back, bites his plump bottom lip.

"Ah,  _Derek_.”

There’s a part of Derek that’s in complete shock, unable to process what’s happening, but another that knows that at some level this is what Derek wanted all along, and that part of him is doing exactly it wants without hesitation.

He hears words trickle out as if from a distance, for once letting his tongue say exactly what he’s thinking, because Stiles likes it. He  _likes_  it.

“Could you really eat more, Stiles?”

“I know I shouldn’t. But, but I could. I want to.”

“Jesus.”

Derek starts grabbing handfuls of Stiles’s belly fat, kneading helplessly, and watching Stiles fall apart under the sensation. He’s practically writhing, breathing shallow. And then Derek’s fingers get caught between the gaping buttons of Stiles’s plaid shirt and Derek growls, frustrated by his own arousal.

“This fucking shirt. Why do you  _wear_ this?

Stiles looks indignant and Derek kind of hates how cute he finds it. “What? What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s too. Too  _tight_.”

“Oh fuck, I know. It, it fit me just this summer.”

“Shit.”

Stiles is bright red, mouth hanging open, and he whispers, “Some of my other shirts, they’re so tight I could probably break out of them. One bite would send the buttons flying across the room. This shirt is one of the least embarrassing ones. Nothing I own fits me anymore, Derek.”

Without thinking, Derek reaches down to feel the waistband of Stiles’s jeans dig into the roll of fat that rests on top, and Stiles’s hips buck up as he chokes on a sound. Derek’s knuckles rub along the smooth skin of Stiles’s underbelly, the fuzz of his happy trail, and he _needs_.

Derek snaps the laptop shut, totally done with pretending to watch a movie, and places it on the floor to give him more room to work with.

Heart pounding uncontrollably in his ears, Derek’s hand cups the squishy flesh on the bottom of Stiles’s gut, lifts it from below, over and over, watching the ripples in his skin. It makes Stiles moan, arch his neck back, and Derek thinks maybe he could come, just like this, with only the friction of his cock against his jeans as he feels Stiles’s body in his hands. He drags his palm, moving the fabric of the shirt up to rest on top of Stiles’s swollen gut, and he can’t help but try to feel all the new flesh at once.

He’s greedy, now, wants  _more_. Derek sits up, straddles Stiles’s thighs, and uses both hands to grab hold of that belly, to massage it, and shake it as Stiles groans underneath him.

“You’re. So big, Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm, fuck. You’re so, so…”

“Say it.”

Stiles’s voice is rough and demanding, and Derek wants so badly to obey, but the words stick in his throat. He says the only coherent thing running through his mind on repeat. “ _Stiles_.”

“Want you to, okay Derek? It’s okay. W-want you to say it, want you to tell me how big I am.”

Derek’s brain shorts out. His forehead drops against Stiles’s and he feels their shallow breaths mingle in the tiny amount of space between their lips. He moans, he thinks, or maybe Stiles does, and seconds pass before he can gather his thoughts again.

“F-fuck. Huge, Stiles. You’re so, so  _fat_. Ah, I can’t.”

Stiles whimpers, hands grasping desperately at Derek’s thighs. “Shit, oh my god.”

The way they’re sitting now, Stiles’s belly is squished against Derek’s own. He can feel the bulge of it, molding soft against his body, and it’s  _addictive_. Derek  _never_  wants to be anywhere else but on top of Stiles. Or  _under_  him. The thought of it is enough to make Derek shudder, grab at Stiles’s fat love handles and say, “Can’t believe how much weight you gained.”

“I. Can’t help it. Derek.”

The raw need in Stiles’s voice makes Derek a little crazy, and the words come easier, now he knows what Stiles wants, how much he likes this.

“No. You can’t, can you? Too  _gluttonous_ , Stiles. No self control.”

Shock and lust and embarrassment war on Stiles’s face, and he breathes out, “H-holy fucking shit, oh my god, oh god.”

“Can’t even go a day without indulging yourself, can you, Stiles?”

“No, ah, I need it.”

There’s a heady rush of power that comes with this, his newfound ability to take Stiles apart. Stiles is shaking under him, hands restless across Derek’s body, and he’s so perfect like this.

“You like it, don’t you? Being so  _greedy_  and  _fat_  and  _lazy_.”

“I-I-ah, fuck.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, yes, Jesus Christ, Derek, p- _please_.”

His hands are grasping, pulling at Derek’s neck, urging him closer, closer. Derek shivers, lets himself be moved.

"All this time, Stiles. You have no idea how much I wanted to touch you."

“Do it, then.”

So Derek kisses him, and it’s like everything he’s ever wanted. He’d imagined the slick, satiny texture of Stiles’s lips, how they would feel under his tongue, but the reality is so much _better_. It’s harder; Stiles kisses like a fight, and it pours fire into Derek’s being. He’s so gone; The sounds he’s making are  _mortifying_ , but Stiles just licks them into his own mouth, feeds Derek back his own as he palms Derek’s face.

It’s almost enough, just this, just  _S_ _tiles_ , between his thighs, under his fingers, his lips. But then Stiles starts tearing clumsily at Derek’s t-shirt and Derek growls, thinks  _yes_ , and  _they need to be naked, why are they not naked?_

Impatiently, he sits up, rips off his t-shirt, and starts working on the buttons of Stiles’s plaid as Stiles feels his way across Derek’s stomach and chest.

“Stiles, come on, sit up, I need to take this off. Wanna see exactly where all that fat went.”

" _Yes_. Fuck."

Stiles tries to sit up, but grunts in pain with the effort, and Derek watches him, takes in his heaving chest, the sweat beading on his brow. He probably hears the hitch and pick up in Derek’s breathing because he says, laughter in his voice, “You like to see my fat ass struggle, huh, Derek?”

“Shut up,” Derek growls, wrapping his arms around Stiles’s squishy soft waist to hoist him up enough to where he can shove his button-up down his arms and tear off the undershirt. Stiles cackles breathlessly in his ear.

“You’re gonna use this against me, aren’t you,” Derek says. It’s not a question.

“You betcha.”

Derek kisses the grin off of Stiles’s face and then pulls back, takes in the vision of Stiles’s pale, freckly skin, plush and hot to the touch. He rakes his eyes over Stiles’s naked belly, and it  _looks_  soft, despite being so round. His belly button is deep, and his breasts are full, and Derek wants to touch him, everywhere.

“ _Fuck_ , Stiles, you’re so.”

“So what.”

“Beautiful.  _Stiles_.” Derek breathes it out like a benediction, and Stiles fights back a grin, rolls his eyes, and smacks Derek on the shoulder. Derek laughs and wants to chase the flush spreading over Stiles’s neck with his tongue.

“Oh, sorry, I mean,  _you’re such a fatass, Stiles_. Better?”

Stiles gasps, arches into the hand pressing against his belly, but he says, “You suck.”

Derek hums against Stiles’s skin, breathes in his scent and shifts, kisses down Stiles’s chest. He’s about to make his way down to his belly, but Stiles stops him with a hand wrapped tight in Derek’s hair. He drags his head a little to the right so he’s hovering right above a puffy, pink nipple. Derek doesn’t need any more encouragement than that.

He traces the smooth skin with his tongue, letting it harden before sucking it into his mouth, gentle, teasing. Stiles hisses in a breath and then Derek loses himself. His flesh is so, so plump and soft under his tongue, as he licks the underside, kisses all around his perfect breasts until Stiles is a writhing, panting mess under him.

Derek takes one in each hand, thumbing at the nipples, and lifts his head up to look at Stiles’s wrecked face as he says, “Fuck, your tits are getting so fat, Stiles. Probably a B-cup by now. Soon you’re not even gonna be able to even fit them in one hand. Not at the rate you’re going.”

“H-holy shit, Derek. You’re pretty good at this.” Derek laughs, and Stiles says, “Fuck you, keep going.”

“Really been letting yourself go, haven’t you?”

And then Derek pats the side of Stiles’s belly, and it’s  _mesmerizing_ , not least of all in the way it makes Stiles pant, “Oh my god, oh my god,” but also the way it makes his flesh come to life, spreading little waves of motion all over; it’s so  _hot_ , Derek has to bite back his own sound of pleasure.

But suddenly, Derek needs Stiles’s clothes out of the way  _now_ , needs to get Stiles off. His own cock is  _aching_  in his jeans, but Derek only has enough patience to undo Stiles’s. It’s a little more effort than he realized, and as he yanks either side of Stiles’s fly so he can undo the button, he can’t resist teasing.

“Jesus, Stiles, you weren’t kidding. You’re bulging out of these jeans, they’re so fucking  _tight_. Surprised they haven’t ripped at the seams the way you’ve been eating.”

Stiles whines, desperate and crazed and then his hips shift restlessly when Derek finally pops the button open. The zipper falls down and Derek doesn’t waste time sliding his hand in to cup Stiles’s cock.

Stiles moans and his body starts to tremble, and he says, “Should see how they fit around my ass. Falls out of every pair of jeans I own, now.”

“ _I know_. Fuck, I know.”

Stiles lifts up off the bed enough to shove the jeans down his hips, and helplessly, Derek’s hands slide down the plump curve of Stiles’s ass as he does. And then Derek gets his boxers out of the way and wraps his hand tight around Stiles, jerking him slow. His other hand is gripping Stiles’s muffin top in a tight fist, and he’s helpless to stop his lips from caressing the soft skin of Stiles’s belly. He maybe gets a little obsessed with the feel of it, so he keeps going, and Stiles is making all these  _sounds_  now, like he’s getting off on Derek’s mouth, so Derek laps at Stiles’s belly with an eager tongue while he strokes his dick slow and tight.

“Aaahh, Derek, Derek, I’m close.  _Faster_ , more, I, I.”

“Should’ve known you’d be a pushy bottom.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m  _very_  flexible. In more ways than - oh,  _fuck._ ”

Derek cuts Stiles’s reply off with a messy kiss on his gut and quick strokes to his cock.

Stiles shouts when Derek starts sucking, taking little nibbling bites of plump flesh, marking the skin, and he can’t stop. He’s grinding his own clothed cock against the mattress and he’s so desperate for release, but he needs to make Stiles come, make him see stars. He ducks his head down and licks a stripe up the underside of Stiles’s cock, and he feels it pulse under his tongue as he comes all over his belly, crying, “Ah, fuck, Derek!”

He keeps sucking at Stiles’s belly, burying his face in the plush fat as he comes down, stops shaking.

“Jesus fuck, Derek. You’re  _unbelievable_.”

Derek grins up at him, feeling smug, and Stiles pushes at his chest, manhandles him until his back is against the mattress and Stiles is hovering over him. Stiles unbuttons, unzips, shoves off his jeans and his boxer briefs, and his eyes are locked on Derek’s. They’re soft again, brimming with affection.

Derek whimpers when Stiles leans down to kiss him. It’s sweet, gentle this time, and it makes Derek’s heart feel achingly full, soaring and light. His lips are every bit as perfect as Derek had dreamed, and his hand is strong, smooth. He’s not going to last, but it’s okay because Stiles is saying, “Come on, come for me. So gorgeous, Derek.”

And then one of his strokes brings Derek’s cock against Stiles’s hanging belly for just a split second, but god, it’s so good. Ever observant, Stiles notices and kneels lower, letting his gut press so soft against his erection, slick with Stiles’s cum. And Derek groans, pulling Stiles in for a deep, searching kiss when he comes pressed against Stiles’s perfect belly.

Derek’s eyes are closed but he feels Stiles flop down to the mattress next to him as he shivers through aftershocks, pants for breath. He feels a little out of it as he cracks his eyes open and turns his head to look at Stiles.

Stiles is already watching him, fond expression on his face, and he says, “That is  _not_  how I pictured that happening.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Fuck no, that was  _incredible_ , are you kidding? I donno, I just always pictured our first time would be… I guess I figured I’d romance you or something, you know? Maybe get up the nerve to ask you on a real, actual date instead of jumping you while I’m sloppy drunk.”

Stiles grimaces a little, but Derek snorts, feeling impossibly lighter at the thought that Stiles had been thinking about it, wanted to  _romance_  him, Jesus. He runs his fingers along Stiles’s belly where blotchy little red marks litter the skin, and he asks, “Why  _did_  you get sloppy drunk anyway?”

Stiles runs his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t  _mean_  to. Lost track of time. And, and I was nervous.”

“…For dinner with your friends?”

“No, loser. To hang out with  _you_. I was gonna. I was trying to psych myself up to maybe ask you out.” He offers a self-deprecating smile. “Didn’t exactly work out like that.”

Derek feels his face stretch into a ridiculous grin and he says, “‘S not too late.”

“Yeah?”

“We could go see  _Captain America 3_  tomorrow, if you want.”

“I already saw it  _twice_ , you should know that. I literally spent a full hour talking about it, like, two weeks ago.”

“I know. So you don’t actually have to  _watch_  it, do you?”

Stiles’s eyes go wide when the realization hits, and a slow grin stretches across his face. “Oh. Ohhh,  _dirty_. I like the way your mind works, Derek. You planning on making out the whole movie like a couple of horny teenagers? Giving me a BJ in the back of the theater? Cause I’m so down for that.”

“Hmm, we’ll see. I was thinking I’d buy you some snacks, too. And then we’d get dinner”

“ _Kinky_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come immerse yourself in chubby Teen Wolf feels over at my [tumblr](http://chubstilinski.tumblr.com) <3


End file.
